39 Number 10
and Christopher malevolently as they approached the famous black door. It swung slowly open to reveal Geoffrey Sloane, the
prime minister’s chief of staff. No introductions were necessary. They were all three well acquainted.
“The PM is upstairs in the White Drawing Room,” said Sloane. “I believe you know the way.”
as “my vast, awkward house.” In truth it was not one house but three—a redbrick mansion overlooking St. James’s Park, a cottage,
and a town house on Downing Street that supplied the residence its iconic address. Constructed on marshy soil, the dwelling
was prone to sinking and, consequently, soon became a hazardous place in which to live. Floors buckled, staircases and chimneys
sagged, woodwork turned to sawdust with dry rot. So weakened were Number 10’s bearing walls that by the middle of the twentieth
century admission to the upper floors was strictly limited for fear the house might collapse.
Two painstaking reconstructions—not to mention extensive repairs made after an IRA mortar attack in February 1991 that nearly killed Prime Minister John Major and his Cabinet—had stabilized Number 10.
Still, successive British leaders had found it lacking, including Jonathan Lancaster, who had personally financed a complete renovation of Number 10’s private living quarters during his first premiership.
The Conservative Party had unexpectedly returned him to power after the scandal involving Home Secretary Hugh Graves and his wife, Lucinda—a scandal that Gabriel, with help from Christopher, had brought about.
Much of the British public regarded Lancaster merely as a caretaker.
Indeed, if the polls were correct, he would soon preside over the worst Tory electoral defeat in nearly a century.
Like many of his predecessors, Lancaster used the Cabinet Room as his office but conducted most informal meetings upstairs
in one of Number 10’s state drawing rooms. The White Drawing Room was the smallest and most intimate of the three. Gabriel
and Christopher arrived to find Graham Seymour admiring the view of the Horse Guards Parade. The prime minister was standing
at the sideboard, filling two tumblers with whisky. Spotting Christopher, he automatically filled a third. Then he looked
at Gabriel and asked, “What about you?”
“It’s a bit early in the day for me, Prime Minister.”
“It’s gone eight o’clock.” Lancaster filled another glass and handed it over. “I think you’ll find this to your liking. It’s
Macallan.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Your long-overdue return to Downing Street.”
“I’d rather drink to yours instead.”
“Hardly what I had in mind at this late stage of my career,” said Lancaster. “But then I have you to thank for that.”
“The country needed you,” said Gabriel. “You were the right man at the right time.”
“A time of more emerging threats to Britain’s security than I can count, none greater than the threat posed by Russia. But
our cousins in America seem to think the Russians, after attempting to wipe Ukraine from the map, can somehow be rehabilitated
and reintegrated into the global economy. Never mind that the only thing the Kremlin is interested in exporting these days
is chaos.”
“It appears,” said Gabriel, “that they’ve found a business partner here in Britain.”
“Edward Knight?”
Gabriel nodded.
“Can you prove it?”
“Not in a court of law, Prime Minister.”
“And what about in a dark room somewhere?”
“I’d like my chances.”
Graham Seymour spoke for the first time. “Edward Knight is a prominent British subject, Prime Minister. Which means there
are no dark rooms in his future.”
“Are there really no exceptions?” asked Lancaster mischievously.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“And what if Gabriel were to handle the dirty work for us?”
“We’d all go down together.”
Lancaster sighed. “It’s not as if the four of us have never done anything naughty before. Do you remember the time we duped
the Russians into poisoning—”
“That was different,” said Graham, cutting him off.
“So we play it by the book?”
Graham nodded. “But only if the case against Edward Knight is strong enough for us to proceed.”
“And who makes that determination?”
“You do, Prime Minister.”
Lancaster lowered himself into one of the room’s white armchairs and looked at Gabriel. “Court is in session, Mr. Allon. You
may proceed with your opening statement.”
There was, for a start, Edward Knight’s initial dalliance with the Russian oligarch Dmitri Savin during the depths of the
real estate crisis in 2009. That much, said Gabriel, was beyond dispute. Knight was in desperate need of cash, and Savin willingly
provided it. In all, the Russian businessman poured more than two billion pounds into the Knight Group, which allowed the
company not only to weather the storm but also to significantly increase the size of its holdings. In return, Savin earned
hundreds of millions of pounds in fees and interest payments.
“Can you prove it?” asked the prime minister.
“I can show you the documents.”
“You will do no such thing,” murmured Graham Seymour from his outpost at the window.
The nature of the relationship, Gabriel continued, deepened sometime in 2016, the same year Russia’s intelligence services
embarked on a sweeping and unprecedented attempt to influence the outcome of an American presidential election. Savin poured
still more money into the Knight Group, and Edward Knight, for his part, dumped the fees and interest payments into a number
of different anonymous offshore holding companies, including a Nassau-based shell corporation called Landmark Ventures.
“And who controls Landmark?” asked Lancaster.
“An undercover GRU officer based in the Russian Embassy in Mexico City.”
“And how exactly were you able to determine that?”
“We hacked the bank in Nassau where Landmark does its business.”
“That’s the spirit.” Lancaster went to the sideboard to freshen his drink. “But as of now I’ve heard nothing that sounds like
clear and convincing proof that Edward Knight knew that he was in business with Russian intelligence.”
“I’m sure he’ll be able to clear up any lingering confusion.”
“You would be wise not to underestimate him,” said the prime minister. “He’ll ring his lawyers the minute he gets a whiff
of trouble.”
“We’re hoping it won’t come to that.”
“How do you intend to handle it? Appeal to his patriotism? His sense of decency?” Lancaster took a pull at his drink. “Anyone
who was in business with the likes of Dmitri Savin after the Russian invasion of Ukraine has none.”
“We have no choice but to make a deal with him. It’s the only language he understands.”
“And if he agrees to talk? What then?”
It was Graham Seymour who answered. “We use Edward Knight to help us roll up the GRU’s illegal sabotage network.”
“I rather like that,” said Lancaster. “But what do we do about his wife?”
“At some point she’s going to need a new identity.”
“What about the money she embezzled from her husband?”
“Obviously,” said Graham, “we cannot allow her to keep any of the proceeds of her little scheme.”
“Perhaps we should place the money in an escrow account here in London,” suggested Lancaster. “Given the many complexities of the case, I imagine it might be frozen for some time.” He raised his glass to his lips. “Several years, in fact.”
“We have reason to believe Revenue and Customs will want a substantial chunk of it.”
“Are you suggesting that Edward Knight failed to pay sufficient taxes on his income?”
“Not even close,” said Graham.
“Well, well,” said Jonathan Lancaster. “This truly is a special occasion.”